


Monsters of a Different Sort

by Catzgirl



Series: Keen and Cunning [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sort of? I guess?, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, but they're addressed p much right away, love me some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catzgirl/pseuds/Catzgirl
Summary: Caleb wakes with flashbacks and memories and decides that he's better off out in the town than waking his companions. Molly follows him to ensure his safety and get to the bottom of what's keeping their wizard up at night. Both of them get what they want but haven't been able to ask for.





	Monsters of a Different Sort

**Author's Note:**

> I watched episode 7 on Friday and immediately started writing this. Caleb's backstory is getting good, yall, and the little moment between Molly and Caleb was too good to pass up!

He wakes up on the tail end of a nightmare,  _fire and smoke and screaming_ , and finds himself soaked through with sweat and panting hard and already halfway out of the bed. Caleb freezes, holds his breath, does a quick tally of the other occupants: Nott, still curled up in the bed beside him, fast asleep. Yasha, laying on the floor beneath the window, back to the room but breathing deep and steady. Molly, flat on his back near to the other side of the room, one arm over his face, also blessedly still. Caleb's breath leaves him in one long, silent rush of air, and he lets the foot hovering above the ground finally make contact.

He's not going back to sleep tonight.

It's lucky that he's the one to set the silver thread at night, because he knows exactly where not to step as he carefully folds his coat over an arm and turns the knob of the door- in increments, waiting for a squeak, opening the door just as slowly as he listens for any creaks, heart still racing but ears straining for any sign of change from his companions. Things are going in his favor for once, as he manages to shut the door behind himself without further incident and leaves the inn.

There's smoke in the air still. That must be what did it for him. The scent doesn't always set him off, doesn't always dredge up old memories. Tonight is an unwelcome rarity, but still, he knows how it'll go. He knows he's better off not disturbing his friends. He knows better than to try to go back to sleep. There are things haunting him that dog his footsteps, even in his dreams.

Sometimes the only thing he can do is run.

The town isn't huge- there aren't that many places to hide. He only knows what he doesn't want, and that's be nearer to the where the fire was.  He slips away from the inn, away from the heart of town, into a shadowed and empty alleyway. His breath still comes in sharp pants, and his head is foggy, his senses clouded, and Caleb has had bad nights before but he's been  _fine_  lately, nothing has even really  _happened,_  and he'd point out how unfair it is to someone but the only other person who knows is Nott, and he's not going to bother her with his bullshit, and anyway, she's back in bed at the inn the way he should be.

So there.

He puts his back to the cold brick wall and slides down it, puts his head between his knees, tries to breathe.

 _Fire and burning and screaming_  and he can feel the heat on his face, he can feel his lungs go tight with smoke inhalation,  _his fault his fault his fault_ , and he'll never escape this weight, this curse, he'll never know a life unburdened from his sins, there will never again be a Caleb that isn't a  _monster_

"You're not a difficult man to track, you know?"

He doesn't even lift his head. He hadn't heard anyone approach, but he can't bring himself to respond. His fight or flight instincts are already activated and it's not to any external stimuli.

Besides, he's got nothing to fear from Molly.

"I know I told you there'd be time for this later," the lavender Tiefling says, voice from somewhere just in front of him, "This can be 'later,' if you want."

He does look up at that, finds that Molly has crouched in front of him, his wondrous coat scuffing on the filthy ground. "You are supposed to be back at the inn, asleep," he says in a voice that he hopes conveys his desire to be left alone.

Red eyes gleam at him with a certain amount of mirth. "How can I be expected to sleep," he asks, reaching out to brace one hand against Caleb, "When my squishiest friend is out cavorting the night away?"

He snorts, makes no move to shake off the weight on his shoulder;  _cavorting_  is not the exact word Caleb would use to describe his current predicament.  _Brooding_ would be more apt, if there was to be a description at all.

But his blood turns icy in his veins when Molly peers at him and says, "You're runnin' from something. I've seen enough men in my day that were. You've got that haunted look about you."

Caleb is up in an instant, fast enough that Molly has to rock back on his heels to keep his balance. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says in his very best deadpan, and it isn't a lie because Caleb is not  _running_  from anything, he isn't even  _sprinting_  from it, he is  _drowning_ in it. This isn't something that he expects to escape, he's just delaying letting it kill him.

He stumbles on that, almost doesn't catch himself, because  _fuck_  but that's a thought he's had before and  _fuck_  he'd moved past that, hadn't he?  _Monster_  the voices call him  _smoke and ash and all his fault_

"Caleb." 

He's midstride and has no idea where he's going. So he stops, leans against the brick of the alley, tries to calm enough that he can stop shaking, tries to explain, "I cannot- There will be no sleep. Not for me. Not for tonight. You should go back." The stone digs into his forehead and he adds more weight to it, tries to use it to ground himself, bunches his shoulders and tries not to imagine what Molly must be thinking about him, "I'm very sorry to have disturbed your rest."

He shuts his eyes against his blurring vision; there is nothing that he would not give to not be this way, to not carry these memories, to not know deep in the very pit of his soul that things will never get better for him. There is nothing that he would not give, but he suspects that he will have to give his life, and that doesn't scare him as much as it used to.

Out loud to Molly he says, "I am not fit for company,"  _monster murderer_ _menace_ "It would be best for you to go."

He can't hear  _he can't hear_  over the roaring in his head, over his own panic as his throat begins to clog and every breath becomes a labor that he isn't willing to commit to fully. Some people are meant to die old and peaceful and in their beds: Caleb is meant to be dead.

"That's the biggest crock of horseshit I've ever heard."

Caleb startles like a spooked horse, whirling to find Molly still standing there, but the Tiefling's face has gone all hard eyed and thin lipped and angry, somehow. Caleb takes a step forward and isn't sure why, isn't sure if he's advancing to allay or to agitate, hasn't decided yet when Molly lifts a hand and pushes him so that his shoulders hit the brick wall  _hard_  and his breath leaves him in a heave. He looks at Molly with wide, shocked eyes as he repeats, "A crock of  _horseshit_ , Caleb. I'm worried about you, you big idiot, I'm not just going to leave you here."

He doesn't look worried, he looks mad; face flushed blue-violet, crimson eyes flashing in the moonlight.

All that seems to crumple when Caleb starts to cry.

"Oh, hell, Caleb," is the muttered assurance as Molly rushes forward.

Caleb raises his arms, bent nearly double, tries to push him away even as the sobs rack his body. He turns his face into his coat sleeve, tries to choke himself on it because he doesn't want to be  _seen_  like this, doesn't want Mollymauk to know how deep these wounds go.

Molly brushes his arms aside with an exasperated  _tsk_  of his tongue, gathers Caleb against him, and rocks him gently. "I'm here," he whispers, voice rough and barely audible over Caleb's weeping, "Let it out, it's safe, I'm here, it's okay," and devolves into some nonsense shushing.

It's childish and callow, but it works.

Molly pushes his sleeve away, pulls Caleb from the wall and situates him so that his face is tucked into Molly's shoulder, almost certainly snotting all over Molly's beautiful silk cloak. If the Tiefling minds or even notices, he doesn't show it. Callused fingers run through Caleb's hair, smoothing it back and out of his face, firmly holding his head in place.

All he can do is follow instructions and let it all out.

 _Fire and smoke and ash_  he can hear the fire, as if from far away, crackling over the screams  _monster and murderer and menace_ and isn't he all of those things and more? Isn't he every inch the sort of man he never wanted to be?  _Screaming and fleeing and they won't get very far, they won't get far enough_ he's filthy, he's a wizard hobo that reeks of yesterday's garbage, he has earned nothing and yet-

And yet he is still the sort of person that Mollymauk Tealeaf would follow from an inn to keep an eye on. To be sure that he's safe. To comfort him, if possible.

It's the thought that echoes when he's finally sobbed himself hoarse, when the tears are all gone and his body is only trembling in short waves.

Molly's hand on his head is still firm, the hand on his back still rubs soothing circles when he asks, "Alright?" He doesn't let go when Caleb nods, just holds him tighter.

They stand for a long time without words, just two men clutching at each other at 3:17 in the morning, in a town that knows them only for the deeds they've done in recompense for lives not lived well. When Caleb does pull away, Molly lets him go but doesn't stray, stands right up against him as Caleb wipes at his face. When it becomes clear that Caleb's coat is only useful for pushing dirt and grime around and not for actually removing it, he rolls his eyes dramatically and produces a handkerchief with an overblown flourish. 

Caleb takes it without meeting his eyes, cleans himself up as best he can.

Molly pokes him in the chest. "Don't ever just leave like that again. You need to come out here and vent, cry, hell if you ever wanna go for a fuckin' swim, you grab one of us to go with you."

"I am not going to-"

" _Damnit_ , Caleb," and even though there's no heat behind it, Caleb shrinks from the disappointment, tries to back away, finds Molly's arms still looped around him as the Tiefling leans right in and mutters, "We're  _family_  now. We take care of each other," and kisses him.

It isn't the most passionate kiss: just mouth to mouth contact, really. Then Caleb exhales, feels Molly's lungs inflate with the shared breath, and suddenly-

Oh, hell.

His back is to the wall again but this time he's pulling Molly with him, fists clenched with any spare scrap of the silk he can get his hands on. Molly slides a thigh between his legs to keep him in place, one hand fumbling with Caleb's shirt until Caleb keens as Molly's fingernails furrow down the bare skin of his back. Molly swallows the sound whole, licking into Caleb's mouth with possessive force. His other hand flexes at the back of Caleb's head, tugging his hair, trying to pull him closer.

"Molly," he gasps, "Molly,  _please_ ," and he isn't sure what he's asking for, but Molly nips at his lower lip, purrs, "Already on it."

The hand on his back drops, fingers teasing at the top of his pants, and the skin there feels electric, every touch of Molly's fingers a thunderbolt to his heart. He grinds down on the thigh between his legs, knows Molly can feel the hardening length there when he sucks in a surprised gasp. Fingers fumble with his pants until they drop and it's  _almost enough_ , this skin-on-fabric, it almost does him in right then and there but he gasps, " _Molly_ ," again and the Tiefling is retreating enough to open his own fly, is withdrawing his own thick and hard and very purple member and Caleb is  _kicking_  himself for thinking he'd be satisfied with anything less than  _everything_.

"Up, up, up you go," Molly says, voice impossibly lower than a purr, and with his hands on Caleb's waist who is he to talk back? He shakes one leg from his trousers completely, wraps it around Molly's waist, lets the brick wall take most of his weight as Molly lifts him the rest of the way with a groan that has absolutely nothing to do with the effort involved and absolutely everything to do with the way Caleb looks with sweat glistening at the hollows of his throat, at the way Caleb has flushed in his face and chest, at the way Caleb's dick is _dripping_ between them, but mostly to do with the lightning storm that goes off in his gut when Caleb gives his own palm a sloppy lick before wrapping it around Molly's cock.

It's certainly not conventional lube, but Caleb has made do with less in his time. His wrist flicks up and he catches the tip of Molly's cock with his thumb, smearing the liquid there, unwilling to waste even a drop.

Molly, never one to be outdone, braces Caleb with one arm, lends his free hand to Caleb's delightfully pale, gorgeously thickened length. The pretty gasp he gets in return has him bucking into Caleb's fist, and he mutters, "Wait, wait, just  _let me_ ," as his fingers, covered in Caleb's own pearly precum, press into Caleb's ass.

" _Oh_ ," Caleb moans, long and loud and languid, his hand stilling on Molly's cock as he fights not to come all over himself right then and there.

Molly presses closer, impossibly, gets his teeth on Caleb's throat, says, "What do you need, dear? Tell me," as his fingers probe deeply and scissor. It's 3:32 in the morning and Caleb doesn't give a whit who might hear, who might find them as he groans, "You, Molly, you, all of you," and this had not at all been how he'd foreseen his night going, so maybe in future he'll leave the planning completely to Molly and his tarot deck.

"Hold on, love," Molly purrs and licks a solid stripe up his neck, the hand in his ass moving to take Caleb's off his cock, and their fingers interlace as Molly shifts and thrusts upwards and sheathes himself to the hilt in one smooth movement as his mouth seals over Caleb's.

It's a good thing, too, because the noise that leaves him is nearly inhuman. But the angle is less than ideal and as soon as Molly is satisfied that Caleb's moans aren't going to bring the local guard running, he leans back to lend himself more fully to the task at hand. They are matched in that neither of them is in the mood to waste time: Caleb's hips are rolling in time to Molly's thrust even before the initial blinding burst of pleasure has cleared from his vision. His hand, the one not covered in cum, moves to Molly's face, traces the peacock tattoo there, then Molly's lips as they curve into a smirk. Is there anything prettier than a Tiefling's tongue tracing his thumb? Than the gleam in Molly's red eyes as they narrow in concentration, flitting from Caleb's mouth to Caleb's cock and every detail in between, as if he doesn't want to forget a moment of this? The friction of each thrust sends whitehot flickers through his core, keeps his legs wrapped around Molly's waist and shaking with the effort. He has never been filled so utterly, each roll of his hips brings Molly _deeper_ , fills him even more, until he isn't sure where he ends and Molly begins and he doesn't give a shit either way. The pressure on his prostate is exacting, the stretch of his asshole just on the border of overwhelming, but it's when Molly's eyes slide close and he groans, "Caleb, dear, _come_ for me," as his free hand wraps around Caleb's cock that everything culminates into an explosion.

It feels as though the world stops, as if a hurricane has swept the area bare. Caleb is briefly, distantly aware of covering his own mouth, biting his own hand, as he comes into Molly's fist. Then his vision goes spotty and all he can think is a startled, happy, " _oh_ " as Molly's cock erupts inside of him and Molly's voice echoes into the night.

There have been moments in life that have defined him. One was beginning to practice magic. One was choosing to drop it. And the memory of one sent him from his bed this night, careening and crying and crippled by his burdens.

This, he knows, as Molly lifts a lavender-colored, cum-covered hand to his mouth and licks away the evidence of Caleb's climax, will be another.

"Have you ever," Caleb asks, as Molly produces another handkerchief, holds it to their joining and attempts to save Caleb from being any further sullied, "Considered a career in therapy, perhaps?"

Molly's laugh is bright, his teeth are sharp at Caleb's jaw, at his ear, humming in pleasure as Caleb groans with his withdrawal, whispering, "Oh? You want me to take on another client and find out?" He holds the kerchief to Caleb's ass briefly, wipes up what mess he can until Caleb makes an impatient noise. Even after, he lets Caleb lower his legs only slowly, gently, until he stands on his own two feet in the puddle of his pants. Molly goes to his knees in a position that should be submissive, should be deferrance, and yet he manages to exude nothing but power, nothing but raw and sensual adoration, eyes gleaming at 3:57 in the morning as he trails Caleb's pants back up, refastens them, rises with a grin that makes promises Caleb desperately wants him to keep.

"I think not, pet," Molly says, and presses a less-than-chaste kiss to his mouth, lets Caleb taste himself and shiver with the renewed desire already stirring again. "Now let's get you back to bed. We'll discuss  _this_ ," and issues another firm but _very_  chaste kiss, "In the morning, yeah?"

"There'll be time for that later," Caleb says softly, finds himself preening when Molly gives him a gracious, pleased little smile for the memory.

"Yes," the Tiefling says, checking them both over once more before pulling Caleb from the alley, back towards the inn and their friends, "There will be."

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to scream at me on tumblr or in the comments!  
> If you catch anything super funky, please let me know as I don't have a beta and all of this is the product of my own willpower and sinning, neither of which mix well with spell check!


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